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Wait—
How long had she been sleeping?
“Wha—” Her voice was thick with sleep, yet rough, sounding more like a croak. “What time is it?”
“You were out even longer this time.” Maddox untangled his fingers, then ran an anxious hand down his face. “Almost fourteen hours, and for most of it you were twitching, crying out in your sleep. You kept calling my name.”
That was a revelation, and not one that Evangeline wanted to hear about—or explain.
Maddox must have sensed her reluctance. Leaning forward in the chair, he said softly, “What were you dreaming about, Angie?”
“What’s going on?” she whispered, ignoring his quiet question. Her dreams were her own, as crazy and inexplicable as they were. Now that she was conscious again, the witch’s threats seemed like nothing more than a manifestation of her confusion. And, on the off chance that some crazy witch managed to infiltrate her dreams, she refused to tell him about it. As protective as a shifter could be, he would try to fight the witch for her.
What if it turned out her dream was right? That Evangeline wasn’t his mate, and that witch was? If Maddox went to these lengths to capture her to prove that she was his, what would he do if it turned out he was wrong?
Better that she keep her secrets. God knows that Maddox had plenty of his own.
Like this room.
She… she shouldn’t be in this room.
Evangeline didn’t want to face it. If she thought she could slip into a dreamless sleep, she’d close her eyes and pretend that this wasn’t happening. Any of it. But her dreams were often even harder to live through than her reality. Especially this strange new one where everything she thought she knew was questionable, and Evangeline didn’t know what to believe anymore.
That was just another thing she struggled to accept.
“Where— where are we? Where am I now?”
Because one thing was for sure: this much bigger room wasn’t the same one he put her in while they were at the secluded cabin. That was obvious from her first glance. But… but she recognized it all the same.
Well. Kind of.
It was her bedroom, but it wasn’t. Small details were off. The walls should be sage green instead of this soft mint shade. There was a nightstand on each side of the bed; in her apartment, she only had one on the left side. The lampshade was a vaguely different shape. The wall art featured soothing photos of sweeping countrysides. At home, she posted frames that showed bright city landscapes.
It was like a facsimile of the bedroom she’d spent months getting just how she liked.
But… but why?
How?
She was shaking. Covering her mouth with her hand, she didn’t know if she was going to start sobbing or simply throw up. Throwing up was definitely up there on her list of options. Because this… this was too much. To be torn from a dream where she’d been threatened and manipulated into admitting that, despite all of her denials, she might kind of, sort of have feelings for her abductor only to wake up to… to this—it was just too damn much.
She had to ask. She had to know.
“How did you know what my room looked like?” Evangeline whispered.
“What do you mean?” Maddox frowned. “This is your room.”
That didn’t make sense. Did he change it around while she was sleeping? Her head still felt dizzy and foggy. It was too hard to understand what was going on. “My apartment? How did you get inside? I have wards… and a key—”
Maddox tightened his grip on the chair’s arms. The wood creaked a second before one splintered off. Tossing it to the carpet—it was beige, just like before—he got up and started to pace.
A flash of anger had her sinking back into the pile of pillows behind her. He threw her a look of hunger, a look of despair when he noticed, then purposely kept his distance while scowling, as if her reaction had personally pained him.
His voice was low. Rough. “You don’t understand. I thought this would help… this is your room, Angie. Our room. The room we used to share before you forgot all about me.”
Evangeline didn’t know what to say about that. She couldn’t deny that she didn’t remember Maddox; no matter how much it hurt him to hear her admit that over and over again, she couldn’t force herself to remember. If she could, she would’ve filled in the nagging gaps years ago.
Maddox continued to pace like a caged animal, his heavy steps barely muffled by the thick shag carpet.
